


What I'm Trying to Conceal

by evening_spirit



Series: Unrelated Supernatural short stories [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-11
Updated: 2011-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evening_spirit/pseuds/evening_spirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another take on Dean's 'memories of Hell'. Written because I felt cheated by the way it was revealed that Dean remembered Hell all this time. I had a different fannon and Dean's revelation threw me off my game. Written after "Wishful Thinking". The only story ever I wrote as a 2nd person narrative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I'm Trying to Conceal

**Disclaimer:**  the characters and the universe of Supernatural don’t belong to me.

***

[The name of the Game - lyrics by ABBA] "You make me talk and you make me feel and you make me show . . .   
 **. . . what I’m trying to conceal"**

***

How can you talk about it? I mean Hell.

He wants to know.

“Tell me about it,” he asks as if it was a hunt gone sideways.

There’s no words! You can’t even think about it properly. You don’t even  _want_  to think, but your mind wants to understand, the kinky bastard! Four months. That’s how long you were dead here, on Earth, but there, it was infinitely longer, so-- Forty years? Would that match? Your time-bound mind can comprehend forty years. It’s easier than eternity. It’s longer than you lived on Earth.

When you’re a soul, the basic concepts of space and time seize to exist. A soul is eternal. It was created by the Creator along with angels and it will perish with them too (only there is no “was” or “will”, actually). At some point it gets rammed into a physical body and then it is ripped out of it.

It’s that blink of an eye defines eternity.

But you can’t say that you were condemned to Hell  _before_  you even sinned, because “before” and “after” only exist in that short period when you’re alive. You make a mistake during that time -- during  _the_  time -- and you wake out of life in Hell and you know you’ve been there always and always will be.

When you’re a soul you understand it. This idea of always. You  _are_  always. But what happens when heavenly forces think it fancy to have you embodied again? How are you supposed to keep those memories and not go insane?

You have to ignore it.

And there’s not even saying of  _what_  you remember, because hey!-- Hell is a bad place.

Strange how the memories are not that bad if you don’t really think about them. They  _are_  a bad dream, a really intense bad dream. Like when you dream that someone dear to you died and for the whole day afterward when you’re away from them, you keep staring at your phone and wondering if you should call just to make sure the dream didn’t come true. But when you focus on your daily tasks the “bad feeling” fades to the background. And dissipates completely after another night and another dream.

Only those memories from Hell don’t dissipate. At all. They fade when you don’t think about them, but the next night you dream again and the “bad feeling” returns.

And still it’s no more than that because your mind -- it is physical, material. Hell is not. That’s one difference that makes it impossible to not only relate whatever happened to you there, whatever you saw there, but to simply remember. Because it did not  _happen_  and you did not  _see_. But how else can you think of an experience if not through your senses? You’re not a soul any more. 

Your mind begins to process those things from Hell though, it seems. You knew from the moment you woke in that pine box that Hell was inside of you. Unnamed, undefined, elusive and-- eating at you.

Now it’s starting to find a shape. You tell Sam there are no words. There’s no way he could understand, because  _you_ don’t understand. Yet. But it feels that the day you will understand is near, because human brain works like this, damn it. It has to understand. It has to put the idea to the elusive, an image to the idea, and a name to the image.

You wish Sam did not bring that up, because thinking about it only makes this process faster; thinking about it only helps your brain calculate all the data and come up with the final conclusion. Idea, image, name.

Once your brain names it, you’ll go insane.

***  
.end


End file.
